


Crush

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-21
Updated: 2019-11-21
Packaged: 2021-02-18 09:34:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21508927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Glorfindel trains Elrond’s ward.
Relationships: Aragorn | Estel/Glorfindel
Kudos: 40





	Crush

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Silmarillion, The Lord of the Rings, or any of their contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Estel shows surprising promise for a mortal, which should perhaps be expected, given that he’s been raised in a place of Elven warriors, alongside some of the greatest soldiers Glorfindel’s ever known. It isn’t exactly the world Glorfindel once left behind, but in this new world, the guard of Imladris is strong and valiant. Glorfindel’s proud to serve amongst them. He’s proud to train Lord Elrond’s ward, though he knocks Estel’s sword aside for the hundredth time. It slips free of Estel’s grip, clattering down onto the plush grass of the training yard. Glorfindel steps back and notes, “I have won again.”

“You have,” Estel concedes, never one for foolish pride. He even bows his concession, stepping forward weaponless, looking up at Glorfindel with a smile upon his handsome face. He’s grown into a fine young man, one with surprising calm and wisdom despite his rounded ears. He promises, “I will do better next time.”

Glorfindel lets out a small chuckle. It isn’t that he doesn’t enjoying their sparring sessions—Estel is a pleasant enough opponent, _always_ pleasant company, but Glorfindel can’t help but think that their skills don’t match. At least, not yet. Estel is too far behind to get much out of Glorfindel’s advanced technique, which is only fair, given that Glorfindel has centuries of practice on him. Glorfindel suggests, “Perhaps you should spend more time with others, and then work your way back to me.”

Estel instantly dismisses the notion. He shakes his head, scattering his dark waves. His hair is so much shorter than an elf’s, yet it’s always looked just as soft to Glorfindel, and it shimmers beautifully in the early evening light. Estel insists, “I prefer you.”

Glorfindel laughs. He’s truly flattered. But that doesn’t justify the wasted effort. He sheaths his sword at his hip and turns to go.

Estel grabs him by the wrist. Glorfindel’s breath hitches, his gaze turning back. Estel looks at him with burning eyes and asks, “Please, may we continue?”

It’s hard to deny him anything. Glorfindel has always found that. He lifts his free hand to curl his fingers beneath Estel’s chin, lightly tilting it forward, maneuvering Estel’s attractive face for Glorfindel to peer into. He’s seen a glimmer there of something _else_ that he needs to inspect. After a moment, he realizes aloud, “You do not want training from me.”

“I do,” Estel breathes, but that certainly isn’t all of it. Glorfindel’s lingering touch seems to bolster him, and then he presses forward, and Glorfindel doesn’t step back. He allows Estel to bring them together, brushing his warm lips gently over Glorfindel’s. The kiss is chaste but moving. When they part, Estel looks at him through thick lashes, intense gaze compelling Glorfindel to allow _more_. 

Glorfindel is more tempted than he’d care to admit. Estel is certainly a pretty creature, and a unique one: a worthy future king. Glorfindel can practically feel the greatness pulsing inside him, just waiting to be fully unleashed on the world. But Estel also has the patience of an elf, and he’ll do so slowly, gradually, _earning_ every bit of loyalty that he’s sure to garner. A part of Glorfindel longs to be a general in Estel’s future army.

But the rest of him recognizes that that’s not his purpose. He was brought back for a special reason that he can’t forsake. He murmurs, “Your destiny does not lie with me.”

“I don’t presume to ask for destiny,” Estel smoothly counters. Glorfindel can’t help but smile. He knows that Estel would accept far less: he’s always settled for less than he’s worth. But Glorfindel wouldn’t have him do that this time. 

Glorfindel allows another short, sweet kiss, just for the road. Then he pulls away and sighs, “This will only end in heartbreak for you.”

“That is the life of a mortal,” Estel says, and he isn’t wrong. He shows wisdom beyond his years to speak that. 

Unable to resist, Glorfindel concedes, “Pick up your sword, then. We will at least spar again.”

Estel politely nods and accepts it, bending to oblige.


End file.
